One Night to Live
by plenoptic
Summary: Optimus, Ironhide, Chromia, and Elita decide they need to get away from it all...even for just one night. Small words are exchanged, and sparks connect...so much healing to be done, so little time. Rated T just in case. Oneshot.


_One Night to Live_

_Plenoptic _

**People wanted OptimusXElita. People wanted IronhideXChromia. So I figured, heck, why not combine them? Optimus and Ironhide bring out the best in each other, and Chromia and Elita are just fun, so it was time to smash them all together in one place and let them do what they would…okay, so this is a little bit of a drabble. But one of the most intriguing things about the TF series is how the war changes the characters progressively. So it was worth it to recall some memories in this fic. Please enjoy, please review, in that order.**

If it was cold, they hadn't noticed. If the citizens around them were sad, they hadn't noticed. Not because they hadn't cared. Not because they hadn't wanted to know. But at that moment, on a night like that one, as their side of Cybertron turned its great steel face to face the bright moons, they had been the only four on the planet.

"Ah've gotta get away," Ironhide had announced the night previously. "So tomorrah. We're all goin'."

None of them had questioned; Chromia had smiled, Elita had nodded rather enthusiastically, and Optimus had grunted. (Decepticons were one thing; but paperwork was an enemy that needed his full and undivided attention.) So they'd gone. Base had been left under Prowl's watchful optics, and they'd transformed and gotten the slag outta that city. Away from base. Away from the war. Away from all the recruits and their nonstop whining, away from the Decepticons and away from the paperwork, away from it all. Two pairs of friends, at the same time two pairs of lovers, four united under the dark Cybertronian sky.

The location? A desolate nothingness. The remains of a city that had fallen in the early stages of the war. They had been sleeping with the ghosts that night. And that was okay. The ghosts hadn't bothered them; the ghost had known they had needed a break as much as they did.

Optimus had sat apart at first, wondering how the slag they'd talked him into coming—the work was a mile high on his desk back at base, he could've been working, he could've been getting something done. But scarcely ten minutes had passed before Elita knelt at his side and wrapped her arms around him, held him close, and he figured maybe a break wasn't such a bad idea. Ironhide and Chromia had sat down nearby, bickering affectionately as always. Optimus and Elita spoke quietly between themselves, their voices low and soft; as she spoke he'd lifted a hand to caress her face gently, a small smile lighting up his optics. At this point she'd removed his mouthplate, much to his disgruntlement. But she'd broken the truth over his head; he only wore the thing to hide his emotions, to accurately play the role of commander. There was no need out here. Out here, with his lover pressed close and two of his best friends nearby, there would be no secrets. No restraints. They were four and the same.

And no stupid mask was going to tell them different.

Two separate conversations had blended into one. They talked about nothing in particular, about everything at once. They'd veered away from the war, they'd veered away from the slagging Decepticons and everything having to do with either. Chromia mentioned the stars; she mentioned how it seemed that they were so close, yet so far. She actually reached up to the sky as she spoke, as though she were hoping to grasp one and prove herself wrong. Her fingers had missed. But she had sworn she felt the starlight on her fingertips.

Ironhide had stroked his right arm cannon absently as he listened to her nonsensical babble. She'd cuddled against his side as the temperature dropped; when he inquired about her heating system she covered his question with a loud, very convenient coughing fit. He'd laughed quietly and wrapped an arm around his mate, content for the first time in a long time. Elita had abruptly lay down on her back and said she could see the stars better like that. Who cared if the ground was hard, if it was cold, if her heating system was also mysteriously dysfunctional. It didn't matter. Out there, none of it mattered. After five minutes she'd released a rather theatrical shiver; Optimus had rolled his optics but lay down beside her, wrapping his sparkmate in tender arms. She'd snuggled against his strong chest, the warmth of his Spark melting through her. He'd whispered, "I love you," but in such a way that her own Spark ached. It was okay. It was okay because he was there for her, because he was right there, because she was in his arms.

She didn't want to be anywhere else.

Ironhide and Chromia had scooted away somewhat, a vague attempt to give their commanders some privacy; as much privacy as you could have in a desolate wasteland with zero cover. For a while, the two trigger-happy soldiers had said nothing, though she'd intertwined her fingers with his. A content rumble echoed in his chest, and she'd smiled. Ironhide had a way of bringing that now rare grin to her lips. There had been a time when she could smile at will, when she'd spent most of her time with this big, stupid grin plastered across her face. But war changes everything. It tears everything, every_one_, apart. It had torn Chromia and Ironhide apart; it had torn Optimus and Elita almost to pieces. Had this been any time but now, they'd be grinning and joking and teasing, breathing each breath like it was their last, laughing from the gut, loving from the Spark.

It was all so different now. Grinning and joking were just as rare as a ceasefire in the middle of battle; teasing often led to guns being drawn and fists flying; each breath probably _was_ their last; it hurt to laugh from the gut because they'd all been shot there at least once; and their Sparks were so battered and worn that there wasn't much room left for love.

Chromia had cuddled against Ironhide's massive chassis, the sobs threatening to escape her throat. Sensing her pain, he'd wrapped a heavy set arm around her waist and pulled her tight against him, pressing his lips to her head as his hand caressed her hip. She'd admitted to it; "Ironhide, did I ever tell you how scared I get?" And it had shocked him. Such signs of weakness were rare in her. That she would break down in front of him was unusual; that she would break down in front of Optimus and Elita was a regular sign of apocalypse (not that Optimus and Elita were actually paying attention to anything but the bot an inch away).

Elita, looking up at the sky, had pointed out a satellite. It wasn't anything big—it looked like an old model anyway—but she thought that the Decepticons had blown them all out of the sky. Optimus agreed; Ironhide told them that obviously the Pit-spawn hadn't. Silence had ensued; feeling his body relax beside her, Elita traced her fingers over a long battle scar in her mate's abdomen, the memory of his long, slow recovery tearing into her Spark with cold fingers. A single swipe of Megatron's personal blade had crippled both commanders; Optimus physically and Elita emotionally. Despite her pleadings, there had been little Ratchet could do to ease the pain. And thus Optimus had suffered. The long days, the long nights, all blending into a continuous cycle, the agony never ending, her weak sobs tugging at his Spark.

Elita's fist had clenched upon Optimus's abdomen as she swam in her nostalgia; his pain was gone but hers continued. Wounds were faster to heal than memories. Optimus appeared to be falling asleep, content with his love resting at his side, his trigger-happy best friend nearby. Yet it had taken him only a moment to realize the discomfort of the femmes; sitting up cautiously, he'd found Elita crying silently, her mute sobs shaking her agile frame. He'd said nothing, but encompassed her in powerful arms, holding his sparkmate to his large chassis. She'd felt so fragile as she cried into his chest; glancing over at the couple close by, he was slightly surprised to see Chromia in a similar state of weakness. Ironhide had glanced up, having felt his commander's gaze, and had shrugged helplessly. Femmes were weird that way.

"I want to go home."

The whispered confession had surprised Optimus, and for a moment he had almost suggested they head back to base, but it had quickly dawned on him she had an ulterior meaning to her words. She hadn't been referring to the Autobot base. She hadn't been referring to any specific place on Cybertron, even. No specific place in the universe.

Except one.

Optimus, with a small sigh, lifted her into his lap and had cradled her almost like he would a Sparkling. "Welcome back," he said softly, and kissed her.

And Ironhide, seeing this, too brought his femme home.

**days later...**

**autobot base**

The Autobot commander shifted slightly upon his recharge bed as the bright light of the dawn poured in through his window. He didn't remember falling asleep. He didn't even remember leaving his office. He began to sit up, but an opposing grunt from the femme curled at his side stopped him. He lay back down slowly, a small smile lifting his lips as he ran his fingers down the side of Elita's beautiful face. She stirred very slightly, but feeling the warmth of his body did not wake. Optimus sighed as he wrapped his arms around her waist, closing off his optics once more. Maybe in an hour, maybe in a minute, someone would be banging on his door, accompanied by the daily emergency. In a wave of brief, rare immaturity he complained to Primus about how unfair it was; he had his sparkmate, he wasn't asking for anything else, yet fate was determined to reap its cruel rewards upon him.

No. No, he'd asked for this. He'd willingly accepted the mantle of leadership. He'd agreed to the chip in his shoulder. And Elita had chosen to bear it with him. She could have walked away, she could have found another to satisfy her needs. She didn't. She took his hand. She told him to get his aft in gear. She told him he wasn't in this alone.

She told him she loved him.

One very tired mech slipped back into recharge.

**Not as much IronhideXChromia as originally promised, but I guess I'm just not used to anyone besides our favorite commanders. So, I guess I have a new challenge; write a romance fic that doesn't once mention Optimus or Elita. Erk. I'll have to write one special for our trigger happy lugnuts…in the meantime, please enjoy, please review, in that order.**

_Plenoptic _


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